


Never Felt Young

by rickyisms



Series: it all started with 1 (one) twitter DM [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 4 +1 things, Established Relationship, M/M, Things Going Wrong, birthday fic, fluff mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms
Summary: It's Kent's birthday. Whiskey wants it to be perfect. It's not.a 5+1 Kent Parson birthday fic. Or, how Whiskey almost cutting his finger off became romantic.
Relationships: Kent "Parse" Parson/Connor "Whiskey" Whisk
Series: it all started with 1 (one) twitter DM [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738009
Comments: 12
Kudos: 143





	Never Felt Young

**1.**

It's a tradition that Kent goes out with the team every year on the third of July. Just for dinner, maybe a couple of drinks afterwards. Kent always tries to pay and is always shot down. Swoops makes the waiters sing happy birthday and bring him a birthday shot that is half whipped cream and half vanilla flavoured vodka. Kent always gets it all over his face.

Swoops had extended the invitation to Whiskey, to join them. But no one else's significant other goes so Whiskey shrugged off the invitation and said, "He's all yours tonight."

Kent kissed him before he walked out the door, promised to be good and let Whiskey fix one of the buttons on his black checked dress shirt.

He makes himself dinner, he watches a couple episodes of Suits and texts Tango about them. Kent's still not home at 9:30, but Whiskey doesn't worry too much, he knows they probably found a bar and lost track of time. He knows Kent always comes home, every night since Whiskey moved into Kent's Las Vegas condo, they've fallen asleep together. There's no reason tonight would be different.

At 11:30, Swoops knocks on the door. Whiskey knows it's him because he always knocks out some strange pattern on the door. Whiskey stands up, a little sleepy but mostly awake.

Whiskey opens the door. Swoops has a smirk on his face and Kent leaning against his shoulder, drunk as hell and his shirt covered in what Whiskey is pretty sure is whipped cream.

"We uhh..."

"Got carried away?" Whiskey smirks.

"Well he did at least. I drove," Swoops says.

“Whiskey!” Kent lunges forward and pulls Whiskey into a hug. Swoops is still hanging on to his shoulder to keep him upright. Whiskey smiles. 

“You’re sticky,” Whiskey says, wiping what is in fact whipped cream, off of his own shirt. 

“The boys were doin’ blowjobs,” he slurs. 

“The shot!” Swoops pipes in quickly. 

Whiskey rolls his eyes, “I assumed,” he adjusts his arm, Kent’s mostly upright but Whiskey wants to make sure he stays that way, “Thank you for getting him home,” Whiskey says. 

Swoops nods, “M’pleasure,” he tips a fake hat. 

Whiskey sighs at the joke, “I’m sure Kelli’s waiting for you.”

“There is a 200 per cent chance that she’s already asleep,” Swoops says. 

“Either way, I’ve got this,” Whiskey shrugs. 

“Okay,” Swoops says, “Happy birthday, Parser. See you tomorrow.”

“Not yet!” Kent shouts, “I still have…” he checks his watch, “21 minutes of being 26 and I’m savouring ‘em”

Whiskey and Kent step back into the front hallway. Whiskey closes the door, Kent’s messy and leaning against the wall. He runs his hand through his hair. 

“Have a good time?” Whiskey asks. 

Kent nods, “Was good. I almost got to pay but Scraps threw my credit card across the dining room.”

“You did get it back, right?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Kent nods. 

“So how many birthday shots did they convince you to do.”

“Carly tried to convince us we could do 27 but I think we got up to 10.”

“God you should be dead,” Whiskey mutters. 

“We did 21 for my twenty-first,” Kent shrugs. 

“My point stands. Come on, I’m not letting you into bed until you shower, you smell like vodka.”

“You love me,” Kent slings his arm around Whiskey’s shoulder and plants a massive sloppy kiss on Whiskey’s cheek. 

Whiskey smiles in spite of himself, wipes the whipped cream away. 

Whiskey leaves Kent in the shower once he’s confident that he can handle it himself. He hears him drop the shampoo and swear loudly to himself. Then he heads to the kitchen and pours a tall glass of water and pulls a gatorade out of the bottom of the fridge for him to have in the morning. Kit walks around his feet, he leans down to pick her up. Kent’s still amazed that she lets him do that.

Kent’s sitting on top of the covers when Whiskey walks back into the bedroom, wearing a pair of basketball shorts. There’s a towel at the end of the bed and his hair is fluffy. Whiskey sets the water on the nightstand and lets Kit jump onto the bed. She nuzzles up next to Kent and Kent scratches between her ears. 

“Hello princess,” he baby-talks to her, he only really does that when he’s drunk. 

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Kent looks up at Whiskey. 

Whiskey shakes his head quickly and climbs into bed next to Kent, he rests his head on Kent’s shoulder, “You smell good,” he says, he reaches over and hands the glass of water to Kent. Kent takes a gulp without complaining. 

“I’m not mad at you for getting drunk on your birthday-eve, no,” Whiskey says. 

“Okay,” Kent smiles to himself and settles back against the pillow. 

He looks over at the alarm clock. Damn it, 12:05, he wanted to say it at midnight. 

“Happy birthday,” Whiskey says. 

“Thank you,” Kent mumbles. 

Whiskey reaches over and turns the bedside lamp off. Tomorrow should go better. 

**2.**

There’s smoke coming out of the kitchen. The incessant beeping of the smoke detectors pulls him from his bed. He takes a swig of the gatorade that Whiskey left on the nightstand for him. He might die in a fire, but he won’t do it with a dehydration headach. 

“Shit! Fuck! Motherfucker!” Kent hears his boyfriend cursing from up the hallway. 

“Babe?” Kent calls into the kitchen. 

“Damn it!” Whiskey curses again. He’s waving a towel underneath of the smoke detectors, “Can you open a window,” Whiskey asks.

“Sure,” Kent says. 

The smoke starts to thin slowly but surely, Kent grabs the broom from beside the fridge and hits the button on the smoke detector to get it to stop. 

“What happened?” Kent asks, he’s still rubbing sleep out of his eyes. 

“I was gonna make you breakfast in bed,” Whiskey mutters, “I did the chocolate chips wrong and I tried to wipe the pan off and the paper towel caught on fire,” Whiskey points at a charred pancake and chocolate covered, burnt paper towel. 

Whiskey looks at his mess, a deep frown settles into his face. 

Kent opens up the fridge, “We’ll have fruit for breakfast,” he declares, “Unless you want to try cooking again. 

Whiskey shakes his head, “Probably a bad idea.”

So Kent grabs the containers out of the fridge, he has a carton of raspberries and some grapes. He finds a mango in the produce drawer and a couple apples next to it. He cuts the mango and the apples into slices while Whiskey wipes the counter down and leaves the burnt pan in the sink to soak. 

“I’m sorry it didn’t work. And I’m sorry the smoke detector woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize,” Kent says and throws a grape at Whiskey, he catches it in his mouth and steps forward to kiss Kent. 

Kent kisses him back, the taste of the fruit still on his lips. 

“I just wanted it to be nice,” Whiskey says, “Y’know, because we haven’t had a birthday together yet. I wanted to start off on the right foot.”

“Thank you” Kent rests his head against Whiskey’s chest and presses his palms to his back, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Whiskey says. 

“Can we sit on the balcony and eat?” Kent asks.

“It’s your birthday,” Whiskey says. 

“Okay,” Kent says. 

He slides open the screen door. They sit on top of the wicker couch, Whiskey’s arm around Kent’s shoulder. 

Kent thinks it’s nice and perfect and exactly what he wants but Whiskey’s tapping his foot against the cement of the balcony, checking his phone. 

Kit curls up at his feet at the end of the couch. Kent doesn’t ask Whiskey who he’s texting because he knows it’s Swoops, he knows they’re planning something for tonight. They have plans to eat lunch with him and Kelli and maybe Scraps, but beyond that, Kent’s in the dark. He doesn’t mind being that way. Not with Whiskey at least. 

**3.**

A shriek from the bathroom. Whiskey’s in the bedroom, he drops the shirt he’s about to put on and runs into the en-suite. Kent’s bent over the sink, looking at his hair. 

“Are you okay?” Whiskey says. 

Kent spins on his heel, he’s holding a hair between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Look at this!” Kent holds the hair in front of Whiskey’s face. 

“What is it?” 

“A grey hair,” Kent scrunches up his nose, he dramatically flops down onto the edge of the bathtub. 

“I need you to check that this was the only one,” Kent says in entire seriousness. 

“Babe,” Whiskey sighs. 

“I will not leave this condo until I’m certain I’m not going grey.”

“You’re not going grey,” Whiskey sighs. 

“I would like to be certain,” Kent says, an intense look in his eye. 

Whiskey sighs deeply, “We have to get ready for lunch with Swoops and Kelli.”

“I will not go until every grey hair has been ripped from my head.”

“Turn around,” Whiskey says. 

Kent stands in front of him. Whiskey gently cards his hands through Kent’s hair. And it’s reliably blonde. Whiskey likes touching Kent’s hair but he still doesn’t want to be late for lunch. 

“I think you’re just paranoid because it’s your birthday,” Whiskey says. 

“Will you love me even without my hair?”

“Are you implying your going to start balding?”

“You never know, my step-dad’s bald.”

“What does your step-dad have to do with anything?” Whiskey smooths out Kent’s hair with the palm of his hand, cups his face in his hand and kisses the side of his cheek. 

“You’re grey hair free.”

“Thank god, I found it on my shirt and I was ready to cry.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Whiskey shrugs, he looks at Kent and he sees quite possibly the prettiest person he’s ever seen. 

And he imagines him getting old and he’s still pretty, grey hair, wrinkles and it’s perfect because it’s still Kent. Whiskey knows how Kent worries about being older, how he gets inside his own head about it sometimes. He pulls him into a tight embrace. 

Kit saunters into the bathroom. Whiskey looks at the hair on the bathroom sink, looks at Kit’s fur. He lets go of Kent, picks up the hair, crouches down next to Kit. He holds the hair next to her light grey fur.

“Babe, I have a theory,” Whiskey says, looking up at Kent. 

They both double over laughing. Kent wheezing, sounding almost relieved. 

“Holy shit,” Kent says, “I hate you,” he says very seriously to his cat. She looks up at him and blinks. 

“Can we get ready now?” Whiskey says, as if he’s a long suffering boyfriend instead of happily distracted by Kent. 

“Yes,” Kent says, he pulls Whiskey in for one last kiss. 

Looking over Kent’s shoulder into the mirror, he spots a singular grey hair, definitely attached to his head. Honestly it might just be blonder than the other hairs. Regardless, his hand shoots up to the crown of Kent’s head and he plucks it out and brushes it away, disguising his touch as a wandering hand. 

**4.**

Swoops and Whiskey get along great, not as great as Kit and Swoops’ dog Max do, but it’s a close second. He breathes a sigh of relief that his best friend and his boyfriend get along. They’ve met, but it’s different at a party than it is at lunch.

Kelli has a record playing and she’s half dancing/half walking around the kitchen. It’s where she and Kent end up more often than not while Swoops does… whatever it is that Swoops does. In this case, it’s showing off his new VR setup to Scraps and Whiskey. 

“You glad they get along?” Kelli asks Kent. 

Kent hops up onto the counter to sit, he nods. 

“Happy birthday, by the way,” she says, “We got you a bottle of wine but you have to share it with us,” Kelli presents him with a bottle of white wine. He turns it over in his hand and hands it back to Kelli so she can put it back in their fridge. 

He laughs to himself. 

“You two are very cute together, by the way,” she points her wooden spoon at him, her homemade salad dressing flying at him. 

“I’m sure that’s like 90 per cent on him being incredibly cute.”

“Give yourself some credit Mr. Sports Illustrated Body Issue.”

“Must we always bring that up?”

“Yes.”

“Well I’m glad we look cute together because I’m straight-up in love.”

“He is too,” she says, “I can tell.”

Kent blushes. Nods. 

He sits on the balcony with Swoops and Scraps, Swoops keeping an eye on the grilled chicken that they’re going to eat for lunch. Whiskey volunteered to help Kelli chop vegetables inside. 

“So like, Whiskey’s your boyfriend? Right?” Scraps asks. 

“Dude, what?” Kent almost spits out his drink (a strawberry daiquiri that Kelli had put in his hand before he stepped out to the patio)

“Oh shit!” Scraps says, “If he’s not that’s cool. Or if he is and you’re not like… ready to come out or anything, like it’s important that you get to do it when you’re ready and stuff.”

“No!” Kent interrupts, “I just thought you knew.”

“Oh,” Scraps says, “No.”

“Scrappy, I literally invited you to lunch with ‘the boys and their better halves’ what did you think that meant?” Swoops says, jaw hanging open. 

“I didn’t want to assume,” Scraps says and he’s so dumb, Kent’s seen him go through one of those spinning doors that hotels have like four times before he figured out how to get out. 

Kent bursts out laughing, Swoops joins him, Scraps protests for half a second before he starts laughing. 

“Okay, it makes sense,” he finally admits. 

Kent takes a sip of his drink through the bendy straw that Kelli put in it. His head’s a little fuzzy but in an aimless and fun way. Kelli will forever be the master of making drinks stronger than they taste.

“You did know I was gay though, right?” Kent asks. 

“Uhhhh,” Scraps stutters. 

“Scraps!” Swoops chides him, “Now I swear you’re just not paying attention.”

As they’re laughing, Kelli slides the door open and pokes her head out. 

“Hello, just wanted to let you know that I’m taking Whiskey to the hospital, we’ll be back in time for dessert,” she says, way too chipper. 

Whiskey appears behind her, “I’m fine, I swear he insists.”

“What happened?” Kent stands up from his chair. 

“Just a little accident with the knife,” Kelli says. 

“It’s fine!” Whiskey keeps insisting, “I just need a bandaid.”

“You need stitches,” Kelli says. 

Whiskey holds up his hand, currently wrapped in a blood soaked tea towel. 

“I’m coming,” Kent says. 

“Dude, you’re two drinks in,” Swoops points out. 

“Seriously,” Kelli says, “just eat lunch, we’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Kent looks over at Swoops, over at Whiskey. 

“I swear we don’t have to go, I’m good,” Whiskey says. 

Kent stands up, setting his drink down, “I don’t want to just hang around here while you’re getting stitched up, I’ll come, even to just sit in the waiting room.”

“Well then we should come too,” Scraps says. 

Swoops nods, “We can have lunch whenever we get back.”

“Fine,” Kelli says, “Let’s just go.”

“It’s fiiiine,” Whiskey keep insisting. 

“Let me see,” Kent says. 

“What?” Whiskey says, taken aback.

“If it’s fine, then show it to me,” Kent challenges him. 

Whiskey lowers his voice, “Baby, it’s your birthday, I don’t want you to have to spend it in a hospital.”

Kent puts his hand on top of Whiskey’s, gently peels away the tea towel and sees a deep gash, still pouring blood, between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Hospital,” Kent says. 

“Hospital,” Whiskey sighs, reluctantly agreeing. 

Kelli drives, Swoops, Kent and Scraps all squished into the backseat of their pickup truck, Kent leaning as far forward as he can so they can all fit. Kelli parks and opens her door. 

“You three should wait here,” she says. 

“No way,” Kent shoots back instantly, “I’m coming.”

“Kent,” Kelli stares him down, “We are in the middle of Las Vegas and you are three professional athletes whose chances of getting recognized go up exponentially when you’re together, do you want to explain this to them?”

Kent sighs deeply. 

“You three grab lunch for us if you want to be useful. I’m starving,” Kelli says. 

“Fine,” Kent says, “But text me every 20 minutes,” Kent says. 

“Kent, I’m not gonna die,” Whiskey says. 

“Just in case,” Kent grumbles. 

“Yes, Ken, I’ll text you,” Kelli assures him. 

“Okay,” Kent says, grumpy. 

Whiskey hugs him before he and Kelli head into the Emergency room. 

“This isn’t what we planned,” Whiskey mutters. 

“It’s okay, go get stitched up,” Kent lets go of him, Scraps is pointedly not watching Kent kiss Whiskey’s cheek. 

Kelli and Whiskey disappear into the ER, leaving Kent, Scraps and Swoops to their own devices. 

They sit in the bed of the truck for about an hour, they play words with friends, and then finally, Swoops decide they’ll drive around and try to find some lunch to bring back to Whiskey and Kelli when they get out of the hospital. 

**5.**

12:32 p.m. 

Kelli: He’s doing okay, still fuming

Kelli: thinks he ruined your birthday

Kent: tell him he did no such thing

Kelli: do you honestly think he’ll believe me

Kent: no :(

12:45 p.m.

Kelli: Still doing fine. Just waiting for a doctor

Kent: okay

Kent: tell your boyfriend that he sucks at words with friends

1:02 p.m. 

Kelli: Some nurse recognized me from your instagram

Kelli: does this make me a WAG now

Jeffrey: lol

Kelli: Also Kent told me to tell you that you suck at words w/ friends

Jeffrey: …. 

1:45 p.m. 

Kelli: Still waiting

Kent: *sigh*

Kent: tell him I love him

Kelli: gross

Kelli: he says he loves you too

2:30 p.m. 

Kelli: oh my god he’s bleeding out

Kelli: jk

Kelli: he’s just whining

Kent: asshole

3:00 p.m.

Scraps: We got McDonalds for when you guys got out but we got hungry and ate it. 

Kelli: you know i never would have found out if you didn’t tell me

Scraps: That’s what K and Swoops saaid but i felt baaaad

3:07 p.m. 

Kent: How’s it going

Whisk: bad

Kent: :(

Kent: I miss you

Whisk: I mods yiu too

Whick: fikc

Whisk: text Klli

3:10 p.m.

Kelli: they put a bandage around his thumb

Kent: damn i was hoping I could get some quality sexting time in here

Kelli: do you wnt me to transcribe, you pig?

Kent: tempting

Kent: if you’re still here after dark I might consider. 

3:38 p.m.

Jeffrey:: Going for a drive. Parse can’t sit still.

Kelli: wow, abandon me much

Jeffrey: I’ll bring you ice cream

Kelli: mint chip

Kelli: Whiskey wants vanilla

4:02 p.m.

Kelli: Victory!

Kelli: we’re seeing a doctor. Whiskey says thx for the ice cream btw

Kent: We made scraps get it

Kelli: the doctor will see us in (drum roll please) 45 minutes

Kent: this is the worst

Kelli: objectively bad. 

Kelli: how are you three not going insane in the parking lot

Kent: Swoops had a baseball in the glovebox

Kelli: are you playing catch

Kent: sort of

Kent: Scraps is an easy target

Kelli: if one of you breaks a bone I’m not taking you to the ER

4:59 p.m.

Kelli: no permanent damage!

Kent: thank god

Kelli: oh my god i’m gonna barf, stitches are gross

Kent: better you than me

5:04 p.m.

Kelli: we’ll be out by 7!!!!!!

Kent: thank god

Kent: Scraps is starting to get tired of getting hit with the baseball

Kelli: remind Jeffrey that I dated a hot lady biochemist before him, I settled

**+1**

Kent runs to hug Whiskey, like something out of a cheesy romcom. He pulls Whiskey to his chest and holds him close. 

“I’m so happy you're okay,” Kent says.

Whiskey kisses him, then giggles. 

“He may or may not have been given some pain meds.”

“Think I’m high,” Whiskey mumbles, leaning against Kent. 

“Definitely,” Kent agrees. 

“So, I’m starving,” Kelli interrupts, “Where’s dinner.”

So they pile into the car again, this time Swoops is in the passenger seat,Kent squished between Whiskey and Scraps, Whiskey leaning against Kent, Kent’s arm around Whiskey. 

“If we drive out to the dessert we can still see the fireworks,” Kelli turns back to Kent. 

“Fireworks? Just for my birthday?” Kent says, “I’m touched,” he makes the joke every year, no one else finds it funny anymore. 

They end up a few miles away from the strip. Swoops has two pizzas in his lap. Whiskey’s still loopy but he accepts the can of beer that Kelli throws at him, they found a case in the truck bed when they started to unload. The fireworks are already going, Kent spots a few cherry bombs in the distance, points them out. It’s just barely dusk. The pizza is sitting at the edge of the truck bed, Kelli sits cross legged behind it while everyone eats. Kent grabs a slice for Whiskey, puts it on a napkin and hands it to him. Kent rests his head on Whiskey’s shoulder, a perfect fit. Whiskey’s arm falls into place around Kent’s waist. Whiskey shoves a bite of pizza into his mouth as a shower of sparks rains down over the strip. 

“I think the meds are wearing off,” Whiskey mumbles.

Kent nods, “Sleepy?”

“Not really, it just hurts now, it didn’t before,” he shrugs. 

Kent pulls Whiskey’s arm off of his waist and turns his hand over to see wear they’ve bandaged it. 

“I’m just glad I don’t have to tell your coach you cut off your thumb chopping cucumbers under my supervision.”

He looks over at the bed of the truck, Swoops is leaning against the cab, Kelli between his legs laying against his chest. Scraps is a few feet in front of them, crossed legs and gleefully watching the fireworks. They’re with friends, but they can still be alone if they want to be. 

Whiskey laughs, “Could have been worse I guess.”

A red white and blue burst into the sky, the fireworks are almost constant now as it gets darker. Kent re-adjusts his snapback and rolls up the sleeves of his button up, the air humid and heavy. 

“This isn’t how I imagined spending your birthday,” Whiskey mumbles, the sound of the fireworks enough to hide their conversation. 

Kent shrugs, “It’s just a day, I got to spend it with you, I got to spend it with my friends, we have pizza, there are fireworks, I have a beer in my hand and a cute boy on my arm, what more could I want?”

“I dunno, a cute boy with all ten fingers?”

“Your exaggerating,” Kent bumps his hip into Whiskey’s. He hands Whiskey the beer he’s drinking, Whiskey takes a sip then hands it back to him. 

“I didn’t give you a birthday present,” Whiskey mumbles. 

“I have everything,” Kent says. 

“I know. I was going to get flowers on the way home from lunch and then take you somewhere fancy for dinner but,” he holds up his hand, “I fucked it up.”

“It’s okay,” Kent says, “this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Kent looks over to the truck and sees Kelli standing up making Swoops pose for a photo in front of the fireworks. ‘

“Get your ass up here Kenneth, we’re _hashtag creating content,_ ” she giggles. 

Kent hops up onto the bed of the truck. He trusts Kelli to get the right angles as the sky behind them lights up. Scraps joins in the photo, the three of them jumping down into the dirt. Kelli squats down, giggling as she hits the shutter button way more times than necessary.

“Whiskey!” Kelli gestures, “Come on, for Instagram,” 

“No, it’s okay,” Whiskey shakes his head. 

Kent rolls his eyes, “I want a picture for my birthday, please,” he sticks his bottom lip out and pulls Whiskey into the boys picture, he stands next to Scraps, puts on a smile. 

“Let me get one of just you two,” Kelli says.

Swoops and Scraps immediately duck out of the photo and Kent puts his arm around Whiskey’s shoulder. They’re standing a friendly distance apart. That one’s for Instagram, he thinks. He puts his hand on the small of Whiskey’s back, Whiskey turns to him. And then Kent kisses him, pulling him close, planting a big dramatic kiss on his lips. Whiskey’s startled but he relaxes and kisses Kent back with a smile on his face. He hears Kelli hitting the camera button as fireworks fill the air. That one won’t be for Instagram, but Kent will set it as his phone background the second Kelli sends it to him. 

“Happy birthday,” Whiskey says when at last they pull away from each other. 

“You’re still not worried that I’m too old for you?” Kent raises an eyebrow, half teasing. 

“What can I say, I like older men,” Whiskey drapes his arms around Kent’s neck, angling his head towards the city so they can both see the fireworks. A Top 40 radio station is playing from the car radio. He smiles, goofy and loose in the way that Kent loves to pull out of him. 

“I didn’t get you a birthday present but they did make me drink apple juice out of a straw before they let me go, so,” Whiskey pulls a green straw out of his pocket, folded into a circle, he slips it on Kent’s finger. They both laugh as Kent looks down at it like it’s the most precious piece of jewelry he’ll ever own. It occurs to Kent that he’s the happiest he’s been on his birthday in a long time. He spent his 26th with Swoops and Kelli and it was nice but he had the ever present feeling of being the third wheel. He spent his 21st mostly hungover. Spent his 18th thinking he could save Jack Zimmermann if he loved him hard enough. His 16th he fought with his mom, his 12th he pouted because his mom told him she was pregnant and he was used to only child privileges. He thinks the last great birthday he had he was seven when his mom put sparklers on a grocery store sheet cake and wrapped a new hockey stick in spider man wrapping paper. That was 20 years ago. That alone knocks the wind out of him. 

“Hey!” Kent says loud enough that everyone can hear him, “I want you all to know that I fucking love you guys.”

“We love you too!” Swoops and Kelli say at the same time, Scraps joining in to say, “Fuck yeah, man!” 

They find an old package of sparklers in the glovebox and light them. Kelli sticks one in a slice of pizza and makes everyone sing happy birthday to Kent and Kent smiles. His cheeks are warm and his chest is warm and just about every part of him feels warm. Whiskey grabs his hand with the one that’s not bandaged. Kent puts one of the sparklers in his mouth and lets Kelli take a picture, Whiskey screams at him that he’s going to take his own eye out. Scraps spends a minute trying to light the wrong end of the sparkler much to everyone’s amusement. 

“Come on,” Swoops says, “Let’s drive.”

He climbs into the driver’s side, Swoops in the passenger seat. Scraps and Kent and Whiskey sit in the truck bed which is, technically illegal, but Swoops goes slow and no one drives out into the dessert at this time of night anyway. 

Kent Parson is 27 years old today. And this morning that made him feel unbelievably unbearably old. But really, he’s always felt old. Always felt like he’s had to bear more responsibility, that he’s had to be the adult in the room since he’s been young.

He wonders if this is how 17 was supposed to feel, a beautiful boy pressed against his side, a best friend and his girlfriend blasting down the dirt road, kicking up dust, singing a pop song watching fireworks. Is this what he was supposed to be doing? Why didn’t he do it sooner? 

Then it hits him, that 17 wasn’t like that for him and that sucks and it’s not fair, but 27 can be like this. 27 can be about his boyfriend and his friends and fireworks and kitchen accidents. He can have sparklers and an accountant. Dollar beers and health insurance. 

He takes Whiskey’s face in his hands and kisses him with this revelation, he feels like screaming, thanking him somehow, because he feels like he owes him some credit for this discovery. Swoops has the window open, he and Kelli look back on occasion, grinning at Kent grinning back at them. 

27 is pretty good so far. 27 feels normal and he feels loved and special and like he’s himself in a way that he hadn’t been at 26, definitely hadn’t been at 21. 

“I promise I won’t cut my finger off on your birthday,” Kent mutters against Whiskey’s ear. 

“Please don’t cut anything off on my birthday,” Whiskey mumbles. 

“Maybe we should make it our thing.”

“God please no.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated :D


End file.
